


Auld Lang Syne

by PixelByPixel



Series: Holidays in Hell's Kitchen [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Break Up, Canon Typical Horrible Life Choices, Cookies, I'm Sorry, Injury Recovery, M/M, Matt is SUCH a great patient, Sad Ending, Sparring, cameo: foggy nelson, it will get better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel
Summary: Recovering from his Christmas Eve injury, Matt surprises nobody by wanting to go on like everything is (say it with me) fine. Between his desire to be out fighting crime with a cast and the strange phone calls he keeps getting, he's not having the best of times.And then it gets worse.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Margaret Murdock & Frank Castle, Margaret Murdock & Matt Murdock
Series: Holidays in Hell's Kitchen [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532732
Comments: 25
Kudos: 77
Collections: Daredevil Bingo





	Auld Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/) for the beta and yet another title. :D Thanks for catching all the times I forget Matt can't see <3 
> 
> This fic fills my Daredevil Bingo square for "into the ring". 
> 
> I would like to reiterate that this fic does have a sad ending but the next fic is planned for Valentine's Day and I will definitely not leave things as they stand. :D

General opinion throughout the Kitchen was that the fact that nobody had strangled Matthew Murdock yet was proof of the divinity of Jesus.

“He broke his arm,” said Hakim from the coffee shop. “But you know Matt. He just keeps going. You’d think he’d take a day off, but no.”

“I’m surprised he hadn’t broken something before,” observed Eliza from the diner. “He gets banged up a lot, you know? Maybe he should get one of those dogs.”

Manny from the bodega just shook his head. “Poor guy. I took some groceries up to his place for him last night. He said he was fine, but I told him it was _no problem_. And you know I walked _behind_ him, for the view. Too bad he’s got a boyfriend.”

The nuns from St. Agnes just wondered if the Kitchen was going to be able to handle six whole weeks of Matthew Murdock in a cast.

Well, most of the nuns did. One of them had serious doubts as to whether Matthew would even last six weeks. Maggie prayed every day for Matthew, and she also prayed for Frank.

It wasn’t that Matthew was that bad in public, despite the commentary of the neighbors. He bore any pain he might have with the expected stoicism; any request about how he was doing was invariably met with, “I’m fine.”

He did everything much as he had before his injury, which was part of the problem. He’d stop by the coffee shop in the mornings and attempt to carry coffee for three, with varying success, but then he’d also take an extra coffee stirrer to poke under the cast.

Maggie had told him to stop when she’d caught him at it that morning when she’d passed him on his way to work. “It itches,” he’d said.

“Don’t be a baby,” she’d replied. “It’s only been two days.”

He hadn’t really seemed to appreciate that. And, well, maybe he felt it more, with his sensitive skin.

But the next evening, Frank came to see her, making his way up the back steps and sitting at the kitchen table. He heaved a sigh.

Maggie looked over from packing up what the children had left of dinner; it wasn’t much, but waste not, want not. “Everything okay?” Frank, after all, had never shown up without Matthew. The only time she’d seen him alone was when she’d helped him with the Santa suit at the Christmas party, just a few days earlier.

“I’m gonna strangle him.”

“So, a typical Saturday night?” Frank peered at her, his expression startled and maybe a little amused, and Maggie hastily clarified, “That he’s being exasperating.”

“Ah. Yeah. That’s a typical any night. Or morning. Or afternoon.” But Frank smiled as he said it, and Maggie did, too. Matthew had been devastated after Midland Circle; she was glad he’d finally found someone who made him happy.

He didn’t continue, and Maggie prompted, “Anything in particular?”

“He wants to go out tonight.”

“I’m assuming you don’t mean clubbing.”

Frank shook his head, his expression wry. “No. There’s some people he wants to find. They’ve been calling him, saying things, getting him all riled up.”

“Who are they?” Maggie asked, and Frank shrugged. “What have they been saying?”

Frank didn’t answer, but he looked a little uneasy. “Just wondering if you knew some way to, y’know, calm him down.” He peered over at her, his expression hopeful. “Keep him from doing something stupid.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t yet met the person who can stop Matthew when he’s set on being an idiot,” Maggie replied, and Frank nodded, his expression serious.

She thought she knew why he’d come to her, and why wouldn’t he? She was Matthew’s mother, after all. Shouldn’t that count for something? Shouldn’t she know how to help her own son? But, no; Matthew remained a mystery, except in the ways that he was achingly familiar. Lately, he reminded her so much of his father, and a thought chilled her.

“When you say _doing something stupid_ , you don’t mean…?” Matthew had likely been suicidal in his darkest moments, she knew, but she thought he’d found a better place.

Much to her relief, Frank shook his head. “No, ma’am. Just your garden-variety idiocy.”

“Like wanting to go out fighting crime with a broken arm?”

“He keeps saying he can’t leave his city unprotected for that long.” Maggie noted that Frank made no mention of how long, exactly, and assumed Matthew hadn’t specified six weeks. Frank shook his head again, frustrated. “I told him I can handle it, or some people he knows, but I think he thinks it has to be him.”

Maggie inclined her head. “Ah, where is he now?”

Frank answered what she hadn’t asked, but really wanted to know. “Nelson’s with him. They’re talking lawyer sh- ah, stuff, and Nelson knows not to leave until I get back.”

Relieved, Maggie said, “I wouldn’t put it past Matthew to sneak out.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about putting alarms on the windows,” Frank said, and Maggie wasn’t sure if he was kidding.

“I wish I could be of more help.”

“Well.” Frank looked a little embarrassed. “There’s one thing you could maybe do.”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any more of those cinnamon cookies?”

Maggie considered Frank for a moment, then nodded. “That cabinet over there. Top shelf. You may as well take the whole tin.”

“Thank you. I know he likes ’em, and maybe they’ll distract him.”

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Frank nodded a farewell and turned to leave, his back straight.

Maggie watched him go, shaking her head as she tucked the leftovers into the refrigerator. There was something he wasn’t telling her, something troubling him. Not that Maggie expected Frank Castle to share his feelings, but it did make her wonder.

Matthew would be at mass the next day, though. Perhaps she would catch him afterward and see if he was willing to talk. Maggie wasn’t especially optimistic, but they’d been doing better lately.

She would try.

* * *

Frank sighed as he made his way back toward Red’s place. He’d figured that the nun wouldn’t have some sort of magic answer, but he’d hoped.

She’d wanted him to spill about who was calling Red, but Frank didn’t want to do that, mainly because he didn’t know. Bad enough he’d told as much as he had, but Red had gone even more closed-mouthed than usual the past few days, and that was saying something. His phone kept ringing, but it just _rang_. It didn’t say _Foggy_ or _Maggie_ or _Shit, it’s Jess_. No, it just rang, and Red would get all shady and go out to the roof or something.

Frank made his way up to Red’s apartment and unlocked the door. That was a new thing: Frank having keys. He’d gone out for bagels day after Christmas and Red had said, “Take the spare set.”

Only it wasn’t a spare set. Frank knew there wasn’t a spare, and this new set had a skull keychain and Red had smirked, the little shit. Red had gotten them made for Frank and had just handed them over like it wasn’t a thing, so Frank hadn’t made a thing of it. He’d just gone out and gotten bagels and then let himself in with his keys.

Frank didn’t know if he should have made a big deal about it. Too late now, though; too much time had passed. So he just let himself in. “I’m - here,” he announced. It wasn’t home. He told himself it wasn’t, even though Red being there made it feel like home.

Nelson, well, he hadn’t left. Good. He turned and gave Frank a look that Frank thought was supposed to be grim, but Nelson’s face wasn’t built for that kind of look. “There’s still some Indian food left if you want.”

“Thanks. I brought dessert.” He gave the cookie tin a gentle shake before coming over to put it on the table before Red.

The reaction was not what he expected. “Those are from St. Agnes.”

It wasn’t a question, but Frank said, “Yeah.” Shit, how had he known? Cookies were cookies, right? Could he really tell the difference?

“What were you doing at St. Agnes?”

Nelson started to look worried; now _that_ look, his face was built for.

“Getting cookies. They’re the cinnamon kind.”

Nelson asked, like he couldn’t help himself, “Ooh, snickerdoodles?”

Frank just looked at him, and Red turned his head toward Nelson in that way he got sometimes that always made Frank wonder if he _could_ see, really.

“Oh, look,” Nelson babbled. “Look at the time. I have to go. Matty, I’ll see you Monday. Call if you need anything. Frank…” Nelson looked as if he was trying to come up with something to say but just repeated, “Frank” once more before beating a hasty retreat.

It was kind of funny, actually, but Frank wasn’t laughing. Neither was Red.

Nobody said anything, so Frank figured, what the hell, and sat down and dished up some of the Indian food. Nelson had gone to Desi Deli, from the look of the takeout bag; Frank liked their butter chicken and, lucky him, Nelson had bought some.

“ _Frank_.”

See, on an ordinary day, Frank just would have explained, but Red had been so damn closed-mouthed and Frank wanted him to see how it felt. Petty, sure.

Frank took another bite of chicken.

Red made an exasperated noise and said, “Fine, I’m going to take a shower.”

Maybe that was an invitation. Frank didn’t know. And he wasn’t going to remind Red to wrap up the cast so it wouldn’t get wet, either. Red was a grownup; he could take care of his own cast. Frank was just going to sit there and eat chicken.

Hey, Nelson had gotten samosas, too.

The water started up in the bathroom after a minute and, fine, Frank let his mind wander in that direction; by the time Red wandered out, wearing just a pair of sweatpants, Frank was feeling a little more charitable. The chicken had probably helped, too.

Red seemed tired, and he had that tense look about him that he usually got when a case was going wrong. Frank prepared himself for a bunch of legal stuff, for nodding and saying _uh huh_ at appropriate intervals while Red talked through whatever was in his head, but the conversation didn’t go that way.

“Did you eat all the cookies?”

“When there’s butter chicken? Nah.”

Red came over to sit next to Frank on the couch. Frank slid the cookie tin closer, and Red reached out and grabbed it. “These really are the best. Want one?”

Frank considered the serious philosophical problem of eating a cookie or that last samosa, then accepted Red’s olive branch. “Sure, thanks.” He took the cookie and chewed it, and realized that he and Red were sitting on a couch eating cookies together. That was definitely not something he ever would have pictured happening, back in the day. “So since you took a shower, that mean you’re staying in tonight?”

Red let his head fall back against the back of the couch. “Yeah. Jess called while Foggy was here, said she’d kick my ass if I didn’t.”

“And that worked?” Frank wanted to meet this person if she could get Red to behave like less of an idiot.

That sparked a quick smile from Red. “For now. She and Luke are going to keep an eye out tonight.”

Well, that was almost an acknowledgment that Red could use some help.

“Look, I get it. The city needs protecting. But there are plenty of people who can pick up the slack.”

“For six weeks?”

Look at him, using _six weeks_ when it benefited him. Lawyers.

Frank made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You going to last six weeks? You’ve been meditating a lot lately. I hear there are a couple betting pools.”

“What? Who?”

“I’ve only heard rumors, but I wouldn’t put it past Nelson and Karen.” Or the nuns, though Frank wasn’t going to say that. No need to cast aspersions on women of faith if it wasn’t true.

“Ha, Foggy _was_ encouraging me to take it easy. Here I thought it was just him worrying.”

“Well, to be fair, he probably does worry. You’re you.”

“Hey.”

“Explain to me how I’m wrong?”

Red took another cookie and ate it with what sure as hell looked like deliberate slowness.

Finally, Red said, “Foggy’s a good friend,” which Frank figured was as close as he was going to get to Red admitting he might conceivably be wrong.

Frank decided not to push it and made a vaguely affirmative sound as he reached for another cookie.

Red’s hand locked around his wrist before he managed to snag a cookie, though Frank caught the quick smile that crossed his face.

He could get away, of course; this wasn’t fancy ninja shit, and Red wasn’t hanging on too tightly. Probably just wanted to show off how fast he was.

“Okay, those are yours,” Frank said, amused. As Red released his wrist, he didn’t add that Red was worse than Frankie; after a moment Red offered him a cookie.

“How’s Maggie,” he asked, as Frank took the cookie.

Frank delighted in taking his time to eat the cookie before he answered. Red wasn’t the only one who could play that game. “Fine.”

Red hadn’t put his glasses back on after his shower - he’d been going glasses-free more often around Frank - so Frank was able to see his eye roll.

He was about to tell Red just to _ask_ if he wanted to know why Frank had gone to see Maggie, then remembered that Red basically had. “Was hoping she’d have some advice on how to keep you from getting too bored while you recover.”

“I’m -”

“We should have some kind of swear jar. Every time you tell me you’re fine, you put in a buck, and when it’s full we can get some of the _good_ booze.”

“But sometimes I _am_ fine,” Red protested.

“When? When was the last time you were a hundred percent fine.” Red didn’t answer. Frank sighed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“It’s just… part of the way I live,” Red said, and something about his voice asked for understanding.

“Yeah, I get it,” Frank replied, and he did. Hell, he didn’t know the last time _he’d_ been a hundred percent fine. He’d had the occasional moment that was close, usually involving Red these days, but there was always that voice at the back of his head telling him things weren’t going to last, because when had anything good ever lasted for Frank Castle?

“See, if you hadn’t broken your arm, I would have a great distraction.”

“Really?” Red said, perking up in a way that Frank recognized and appreciated.

“Not that.” A pause. “Okay, not just that.”

“I was going to say, we’ve proven that a broken arm won’t get in the way.” And he smiled that smug little smile before adding, “Without a broken arm, I wouldn’t need a distraction, right?”

“Yeah, true,” Frank said, agreeing to both statements.

“So what is this distraction that this thing won’t let us do?” Red asked, lifting his casted arm.

Frank considered the wisdom of telling him, then did a mental shrug. He’d brought it up. If this backfired, it was his own fault. “Found a place we can spar. Buddy of mine knows somebody who has a boxing gym, says we can use it after hours, no charge as long as we clean up after ourselves.”

Frank had kind of planned on it being a Christmas present; what with everything, he and Red hadn’t really exchanged gifts. Frank didn’t mind. Presents were too much pressure, anyway.

Red brightened a little, asking, “Which one? I know of most of the gyms around here.” Frank told him. “They open on Sundays?”

“They close early, ’cause the owner has to go to Sunday dinner at his nonna’s.”

“Ha. Where is it?”

“Newark.”

Red was silent for a long moment, then asked, “You want me to go to Jersey?”

“What’s wrong with going to Jersey?”

“Nothing, I guess. Aside from the fact that it’s Jersey.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile. “Well, it’s kind of a moot point anyway, y’know?”

“No, we can still go. Tomorrow. After mass. I can do it.”

Frank heaved a sigh. Yeah, it had backfired. “Red, hitting things isn’t the best for healing, yeah?”

“But I’d be hitting you. Come on, Frank. I’m pretty sure I can take you one-handed.” There was another of those smirks. Frank scoffed, and Red added more seriously, “And I know we’d both have enough control not to hurt each other. Right?”

Frank couldn’t help but agree, “Yeah.”

Frank kind of wanted to go even with Red’s broken arm. It wasn’t just that he wanted Red to work off some energy. He and Red hadn’t fought in a while, and Frank was interested in who would win. Red was faster, and Frank suspected that he used his senses to guess when an opponent was about to attack, but Frank had advantages of his own.

He just had to bring Red back the same level of broken. If Frank damaged Red or allowed him to damage himself, he knew he’d never hear the end of it from… well, a lot of people.

“So tomorrow. After mass.” Red outright grinned, which Frank guessed made it worth it. “Guess I’m going to Jersey.”

“And you’ll be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Look, if you break yourself even more in less than a week, I’m pretty sure nobody wins the betting pool.”

Red shook his head. “Frank, I think you underestimate the residents of Hell’s Kitchen and their ability to judge me.”

Shit. “That was not a challenge.”

“I know.”

“If you’re not gonna be careful, we’re not going.”

“I’ll be careful.” But he still had that grin, the one that meant trouble.

Frank had to admit, it wasn’t without its appeal.

Pretty sure he was making a mistake, he nodded. “Okay, then.”

* * *

Matt sat still during mass. He wanted to focus, to listen, to meditate on the words that he heard and he spoke. He went up for Communion and tried to think about sacrifice.

Mostly, he managed these simple goals. Mass was usually a solace, a time to reflect; he did his best to push away his worries.

He almost succeeded. There was still that unease at the back of his mind, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He was hoping that going to the boxing gym with Frank would help, even though it was in Jersey. But maybe hitting something, or focusing on not being hit, maybe that would help with the dread he felt whenever his fingers brushed against his phone. The people who kept calling hadn't made any specific demands, but he knew it was coming.

Frank still seemed unsure about taking Matt to the boxing gym, and Matt got that. But he knew he wouldn’t clock Frank with his cast, and he needed to do something physical, something challenging.

He _needed_ to be out protecting his city. Hopefully, whatever happened at the boxing gym would convince Frank that he would be able to do that.

While Matt knew that there was still time to kill before heading off to - God help him - New Jersey, he still got up after mass and started threading his way to the exit. The other parishioners tended to get out of his way, maybe because of the cane, maybe just because they knew him; so it didn’t take much time for Matt to get to the exit.

“Matthew?”

So close. But he knew that voice, recognized that heartbeat, and was certain he would never hear the end of it if he ducked out now. She knew he could hear her, after all. So he pulled on a smile and turned. “Maggie, hello. I was just…” He gestured toward the exit.

“How are you doing?”

No, Matt wasn’t going to get away that easily. “Fine,” he said, and then smiled a little as he thought of Frank’s Fine Jar.

Maggie made a quiet, derisive sound, and Matt was glad _she_ didn’t know about the Fine Jar. She’d make the Fine fine - Matt couldn’t help but smile at _Fine fine_ \- be more than a buck. She would likely involve manual labor; he remembered from his orphanage days that she was fond of using chores as a deterrent against behavior she didn’t like.

“Well, you look better than you did the other day. At least you’re smiling.”

He wasn’t going to tell her why he was smiling, that was for sure.

“It really isn’t a big deal. It’s just a broken arm.”

“Matthew, what did you do to yourself?”

Even if Matt didn’t recognize the voice, he’d never forget the rose perfume. She must have bathed in it; the smell practically knocked him over. “I fell, Sister Bernadette. Broke my arm. It’s okay.”

She tutted and patted his good arm. “Well, I’ll pray that you’re more careful.”

Maggie coughed suspiciously, and Matt tipped his head at her, trying not to smile.

“Thank you, Sister Bernadette. I’m glad you’re looking out for me.”

“You just need to slow down,” Sister Bernadette urged. “Young people these days, always in such a rush.” Matt felt her gnarled hand pat his cheek and smiled. “I made some gingersnaps this morning. You always liked them. Have Maggie give you some.” He murmured an acknowledgment, as he wasn’t going to pass up on the gingersnaps, and the elderly nun continued, “Good. People worry about you, Matthew. For all our sakes, please do take care.”

“I will, Sister.”

She made a noise that sounded pleased, and then the rose scent faded a little as he heard her start up another conversation.

“We do worry,” Maggie said, her voice low. Matt inhaled to speak, and she said, “And if you say _fine_ one more time…”

Yeah, he definitely had to make sure Frank and Maggie didn’t get together on that. Kicking in money for top-shelf alcohol, he could handle that; Maggie and Frank plotting? Not so much.

“Okay,” he admitted. “I’m a little tired. But Frank and I are going to get out of the city later, so -”

“Get out of the city?” Maggie echoed, sounding startled. “You?”

“I’ve left New York before.” Okay, maybe he was sounding a little defensive.

“When?”

He tried to remember, but saying, _School field trip_ would just make her laugh at him. But, really, why would he want to leave Hell’s Kitchen? Everything he needed was there.

So he just said, “I have.”

Maggie sounded a little amused as she said, “Well, I hope you and Frank have fun. Where are you going?”

Matt was pretty sure Maggie wouldn’t approve of his choice of activities, but Maggie didn’t approve of a lot of his activities. “Somewhere Frank knows,” he replied, which was the truth. Time to change topics, though. “He brought back some cookies yesterday. What did you two talk about?”

“Let’s go get you those gingersnaps.”

“Maggie.”

“We can talk there,” she said, her tone placating.

“When did Sister Bernadette even find the time to make gingersnaps before mass? Those take a while.”

“She was up before dawn,” Maggie replied. She kept up a good pace as she went to the orphanage, but no so much that Matt had to struggle to keep up. “Baking and singing.”

“Pleasant way to wake up?”

“Certainly.” Maggie’s tone could not be any drier.

“Ha. Well, she means well.”

“She does,” Maggie agreed. “I just wish she was able to sleep more.”

Matt heard her rustling around, and then the telltale scrape of a cookie tin. She hadn’t had to get the step-stool; Matt had noticed that she’d needed one in the past. He’d had the disturbing thought that his - Maggie was short. When he was a kid, he’d always imagined her as tall. He sank to a seat at the kitchen table and stifled a yawn, though he tried to look alert when her feet scuffed against the floor as she turned. Did she do that on purpose?

“Looks like Sister Bernadette isn’t the only one needing more sleep.”

“Did you seriously just compare me to a hundred-year-old nun?”

“Matthew.”

He grinned. “Oh, come on. She’s not older than that, is she?”

“ _Matthew_.” But she was smiling as she said it; it came across in her voice. “You’re not going to distract me. Has the cast been keeping you up?”

Well, yes. It was heavy and weird and he hated it. Briefly, Matt considered another distractionary attempt by pointing out what - rather, who - else was keeping him up at night. But knowing Maggie, she would tease him for details and he just couldn’t handle that. Better to keep that to himself. So he just shrugged. “I’ve been up some at night.” There. The absolute truth, with none of the unnecessary details.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” She sounded worried and Matt sighed. This was what even such minimal honesty got him.

Matt started to shake his head, then smiled and pointed out, “Sister Bernadette did say to give me some of those cookies, and you know she’ll ask you about it later.”

“True,” Maggie agreed, sounding like she wished she could provide more than baked goods. “But you still have my spare tin.” Still, the sounds of containers moving suggested that Maggie was looking for some other way to send him off with cookies.

“Right. From when Frank as over here. What did you talk about, again?”

Maggie must have found another container; the smell of spices grew stronger and then Matt heard her transferring cookies. “He’s just worried about you, Matthew. He knows that dealing with an injury can be difficult, and…”

Matt tried not to sound annoyed. “You don’t need to… to _manage_ me, you and Frank. I’ve dealt with injuries before.”

“Mm.” There was the sound of the storage lid container going on, then the scuff of the plastic on the table as Maggie slid it over to Matt. “Nobody is managing you,” she replied, her tone brisk. “We -” Wait, when had Maggie and Frank become a _we_? Just that one word made Matt a little uneasy. Maggie cleared her throat and continued, “We know you’re going to do what you want, but we just hope you’ll let yourself heal a little first. I know you’ve been meditating, and I’ve been praying for you, but meditation and prayer can only do so…”

Matt didn’t even hear the rest of her words. Prayed? Really? Well, she was a nun; she prayed. But for him? He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He probably looked like shit - the glasses could hide a lot of the signs of sleeplessness - but for once he didn’t care. “You prayed for me?” He asked, his voice quiet.

He heard her sit down, and then she rested a hand on his arm. Her hand trembled a little; he guessed this was kind of a big deal. “Of course, Matthew. Every day.”

“Since…” He couldn’t finish, but she seemed to know what the question was.

“Since you were born. Every day.”

Matt didn’t say anything, but he smiled. After a moment or two, he drew in a breath to reply, then turned his head, listening. Footsteps, growing closer. “Incoming,” he said, tucking away the container of gingersnaps. He liked the kids, but just for a moment wished that they were _anywhere_ else.

“Sister Bernadette _said_ you were here,” said Sammy.

“Whoa, what did you do to your arm?” Alex added.

“He broke it, duh,” said Pablo. “How come nobody signed your cast?”

“Maybe he wants to look professional?” Maggie suggested.

“He can cover it with his jacket,” Pablo replied. “Can we sign it, Matt?”

Technically, Matt’s jackets wouldn’t fit over the cast. He’d been going casual lately: t-shirts, sweatshirts, hoodies. He still wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do for court, but hopefully, the judges wouldn’t care. He could get Frank to tie his ties for him, if he couldn’t manage.

Feeling the weight of the kids’ anticipation of his answer, Matt said, “Okay, but nothing too wild.” Maybe the judges would appreciate some artwork.

“Let’s get the markers!” The trio left the room like a small whirlwind, and Matt heard one of them say, “… not like he can see what we do, anyway.”

“It’s okay," he said before Maggie could apologize on their behalf. “They’re kids. And the time between Christmas and New Year’s is just weird. They can do whatever. It’s okay.”

“You may want to rethink that,” Maggie said as the kids thundered back into the room, various art supplies rattling around in what sounded like a can. Matt sniffed a little, catching a hint of coffee grounds. There had always been old coffee cans around the orphanage. Maggie continued, “Just markers, children.”

“Aw, Sister,” Alex protested. “We’d only use a _little_ paint.”

“Just markers,” Maggie repeated, her voice firm.

“But, Sister, Matt’s blind,” Sammy protested, as Alex urged Matt to stretch out his arm so they could get to it.

“… and?”

“We want to put some stickers on it, so he can feel them. Look, they’re not weird or anything.” Sammy thrust what Matt eventually figured out was a sheet of stickers into his hand. Well, they weren’t puffy or fuzzy or anything, so they were probably okay. And Maggie wouldn’t let them put anything too off-the-wall on his cast. Right?

“That’s okay,” Matt said as he felt the pressure of a marker on the cast. “Just not a lot, all right?” He could only imagine what the other lawyers would say. Besides, the stickers would probably just peel off anyway. No big deal.

The kids were careful and didn’t push too hard with the markers, which Matt appreciated.

“Here, Sister,” said Alex. “You can sign it, too.”

Well, why not? Couldn’t be worse than what the kids had done. Matt just shrugged and slid his casted arm closer to Maggie.

“Frank should sign it, too.” Of course, that was Pablo.

Matt nodded. “I’ll let him know you said so,” he replied, and felt some motion, perhaps as Pablo bounced in his chair.

It smelled like Maggie had uncapped a marker, and her heart rate had picked up a bit. Matt turned his head in her direction but she didn’t say anything, instead taking her time about signing the cast.

“Now a sticker,” Sammy instructed.

“You three have provided enough stickers, and I think Matthew needs to get going, anyway.”

Before more kids could come and sign his cast? Yes, absolutely Matthew did need to get going. He got to his feet, saying, “I do, actually. But thanks for decorating my cast, kids. I’m sure it looks great."

“It does,” Alex agreed. “But you need to get more people to sign it.”

“I will,” Matt replied. He paused next to Maggie and thought about saying something, but he could practically feel the children watching him. He pursed his lips, then said, “I’ll stop by later this week.”

Maggie smiled. “I’ll see you then.”

Matt turned to leave, though he could still hear the children as the door closed behind him.

“We don’t have homework,” Sammy said preemptively.

“We’re going outside,” Pablo added.

Matt walked a little faster. It wasn’t that he didn’t want more interaction with the kids, just that… okay, he didn’t want more interaction with the kids. They were good in small doses, but Matt was more interested in getting to the boxing gym and hitting things.

What a perfect Sunday afternoon activity.

* * *

Frank drummed his hands lightly on his truck’s steering wheel. Most of the time he kept it in a garage, preferring not to fight city traffic. But for the trip to the boxing gym, it seemed like the simplest way to travel. He’d told Red to get his stuff together while Frank went to get the car; who even knew what Red would bring? He had boxing gloves in that trunk of his; Frank had also caught a glimpse of red fabric, carefully tucked away, but he figured Red wouldn’t be bringing that.

The boxing gym also had basic equipment, so even if Red didn’t bring anything, they’d be fine.

Frank really wasn’t sure what he expected from the day, but he was hoping that Red could burn some energy safely, and maybe realize that he should take a break. That cast had to be throwing off his balance; Frank didn’t want to think of what might happen if Red went roof-jumping with that extra weight.

He pulled to a stop outside Red’s building, but he wasn’t there.

 _It’s only New Jersey,_ he texted, smiling a little as he thought of Red’s reaction when his phone read the message aloud. _You don’t need to bring luggage._

Red looked amused as he finally came out of the building. Frank honked his horn and Red made his way over. He only had a gym bag looped over his shoulder, managing the bag and the cane and the cast with all apparent ease.

Frank leaned over to open the door for him, and Red tossed in the bag and then climbed in.

“You sure it’s safe to leave New York?”

Frank was pretty sure he was kidding. In fact, Red seemed to be in a good mood. He’d been odd lately: pleasant sometimes, then closed-mouthed and moody at other times.

Frank hadn’t noticed Red getting any more of those odd phone calls, though it wasn’t like they were together all the time. He thought about asking - he remembered that the car had always been the best time to get information from Lisa or Frankie, as they hadn’t been able to get away - but Red seemed to be in a good mood and Frank didn’t want to ruin that. Instead, he turned the radio on low, grateful that the Christmas music season was officially over, and settled in for the drive.

Once he got out of the city traffic, it wasn’t so bad. Frank liked driving, really. It used up just enough of his attention that he didn’t have to worry about thinking too much.

Red tensed up a little when they went into the Lincoln Tunnel. Maybe the air sounded different or something.

He turned down the radio. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m -” Red cut off his words, his expression rueful. He took in a breath, then said, “Just, being closed in.”

Frank wasn’t sure how he could tell but went with it. “Won’t be in here too long.”

“And then we’ll be in Jersey.” Such enthusiasm. Red looked over, though, adding, “I appreciate you setting this up, though. Thanks.”

“No problem. Should be fun.” Frank was usually more distance than close combat, and he was pretty sure Red could kick his ass even one-handed, so he added, “Long as you don’t hurt me too much.” He glanced over in time to catch Red’s smirk.

“I’ll be gentle.”

They emerged from the tunnel, then, and Red drew in a deep breath, some of his tension seeming to go away.

“The air smell different in Jersey?”

“… yeah.”

“Weird.”

Frank didn’t argue, because for all he knew Red really did smell different things here. He just kept driving and let Red acclimate.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, and then Frank pulled into one of the spaces behind the gym. “We’re here,” he said, though he was pretty sure him stopping the truck would be a good clue to that. He got out of the car and went for the staff entrance, Red a few steps behind him; the key code his buddy had given him worked, and they went inside.

Red inhaled deeply as the door closed behind them; it was clean, but even Frank caught a whiff of something that said _gym_ , so Red was probably getting more of that.

They went from the small office into the main gym. “Okay, we got heavy bags, some gear over here which Jimmy said we could use long as we leave it as we found it, and there’s a ring here, too. Locker room’s at your two if you need it. Bench just a step to your right.”

“Nah.” Red pulled off his jacket and dropped it on the bench. He was wearing sweatpants and a faded Columbia t-shirt, so Frank figured he’d be good to go soon. He pulled a sling out of his bag and adjusted it so that his casted arm would be held snug against his body.

Good. Frank hadn’t been looking forward to it flailing around. Too easy to get clocked that way, which would hurt both of them. Red pulled out a set of hand wraps, then frowned, looking irritated.

“I got it,” Frank said, stepping closer.

For a miracle, Red didn’t say no or that he was fine, just extended his good hand and asked, “You know how to do this?”

“Yeah.” Frank took Red’s hand and began the process of wrapping it: first the thumb loop. “Let me know if it’s too tight.” Frank focused on the wrapping, wanting to get it right, though as he finished he glanced over to see Red smiling. He liked the smile and thought about kissing Red, but he knew where that would lead, and he wasn’t sure if there were security cameras anywhere. No need to give Jimmy’s pal a show. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… thanks. Got another set if you need some.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Mister always wear body armor isn’t going to protect his hands?” Red teased.

Frank sighed. “Fine, hand ’em over. But it’s not the same, hand wraps and body armor. Nobody’s shooting at us in here.”

“I don’t know, we _are_ in Jersey…” Red replied, smiling a little as he rummaged in his bag and came up with another set of hand wraps.

Frank got to work putting them on while Red tucked his glasses in his bag and then wandered around the space. He found one of the heavy bags and punched lightly at it, then climbed into the ring.

Frank just watched him while he finished with the wraps. Red walked around in the ring, getting himself used to the space: pushing lightly at the ropes, bouncing from foot to foot.

“You ready yet?” Red called.

Frank smiled as he started on his second wrap. “Keep your pants on. Only reason I’m taking so long is that you wanted me to use the wraps.”

“Well, hurry it up,” Red replied, with one of his cocky grins.

Frank considered slowing down just on principle, but he was curious as to how it was going to go. He finished up with the second wrap, then joined Red in the ring. “Sure you don’t want to start slower, maybe a heavy bag?” In answer, Red threw a punch, lightning-fast; Frank barely got out of the way in time. “Okay, any rules?”

“What do you mean?” Red asked. He threw another punch, and the arm in the sling twitched as if he wanted to make it a one-two. Frank winced; that couldn't have felt good.

“Well, first rule, you have to fight me with one arm tied… not behind your back, but close.”

“Nothing else,” Red replied, clearly growing impatient. “Not like anybody out there would play by the rules.” Frank hesitated, and Red added, “Hit me!”

Well, that was why they were there. Frank jabbed a light punch at Red’s head and he danced out of the way. “You call that a hit? You can do better than that, Castle.”

Frank tried again, putting more weight behind it; Red redirected and used Frank’s momentum against him, throwing him to the other side of the ring.

“No rules,” Red said, with a wide, slightly feral grin.

Frank wondered if maybe he was in a little over his head. Well, Red was fast, but Frank had more power. He’d have to use that to his advantage because he sure wasn’t going to let Red win.

Red was practically dancing in place, and Frank couldn’t help but smile. He was like a little kid.

Frank had seen Red fight. He knew what Red could handle. But he still felt some hesitancy about going all out.

Maybe Red sensed that; he made a _come here_ gesture with his uninjured hand, still grinning, and Frank decided, what the hell. Red was asking for it. He could handle himself.

Frank lunged forward with a sharp uppercut. Red exhaled a heavy breath as the blow hit, knocking him back a step, but he still looked happy.

This, Frank decided, was a weird fucking relationship.

Red must have watched pro wrestling back when he could still see because he leaned back against the ropes and used them to do some fancy kick that knocked Frank in the chest. Even though he bobbled it a little, his balance clearly a bit off, it was Frank’s turn to get knocked back, and it was more than just a step.

“Damn,” Frank muttered.

“Good one?”

“Not the word I’d use.”

Frank had to think about what he wanted to accomplish: get Red to burn off some energy, ideally without hurting either of them too much; get Red a realistic idea of what he could do while he was injured.

 _That_ , Frank thought as he rubbed at his chest, _may have backfired._ Red was doing better than Frank had thought he would.

Red was already winding up for another punch, but Frank ducked under it and grabbed Red around the waist, tackling him to the ground; he made sure Red didn’t land on the broken arm.

“You’re going easy on me,” Red replied, sounding out of breath. He twisted out from under Frank; Frank didn’t even know how.

“Like hell,” Frank replied, scrambling to his feet and attempting a kick. It had worked for Red, after all.

It did not work for Frank. Not only did he miss, but Red caught his leg and flipped him onto his back.

“Fuck,” Frank muttered, though he took the hand Red offered to get to his feet.

“Had enough?” Red asked, the little shit.

Frank just shook his head. He should have known better. Boxer’s kid, and then that ninja training Red had gotten from his asshole teacher; why did Frank think this was going to be easy?

“I can handle more,” Frank replied, because it was obvious Red was nowhere near tired, and Red grinned.

It was a little uncanny, though, fighting Red with neither of them geared up. Going up against Red without the mask, without even his glasses… it was weird.

Frank liked seeing his opponents’ faces when he killed them, liked looking them in the eye. But Red’s eyes were different. They didn’t give Frank any clue what he was doing. He had to stop paying attention to them, had to pretend that Red was still wearing the mask.

Maybe then he’d be able to hold his own. Because this shit, Red kicking his ass? Ridiculous.

Frank moved in with a combination: one-two, high-low. Red dodged the first, but the second connected with a solid hit.

Red knocked Frank’s legs out from under him with some fancy kick, but Frank grabbed his good hand and pulled him down with him. He rolled so that Red was beneath him and this time he braced himself, so Red couldn’t escape.

Red kind of shivered. “This is cheating.”

Frank leaned down.

“No rules,” he whispered in Red’s ear.

Red closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath, then hooked a leg around Frank’s and reached with his good arm to grab one of Frank’s wrists, fingers digging in.

Frank knew that move, and he knew Red was not going to be able to manage it with one arm. He hunkered down a little lower.

Red pulled his arm between them and shoved at Frank, but Frank wasn’t going anywhere.

Frank grinned. “Give up?”

Red muttered a curse under his breath, then leaned up as if to kiss Frank, but Frank pulled back a little. “Security cameras, probably.”

Red looked for a moment like he was all set to put on a show, but then he shook his head.

“Can’t get up, can you?”

Red shoved once more, then drew up a leg, coming close to kneeling Frank in the groin. Frank twitched away, but still not enough to let Red up.

Frank shifted, pressed Red harder. Hell, this was pretty much putting on a show. He twisted so he had an arm across Red’s throat, though he didn’t push down.

“Give up.”

“Fuck you.”

And that was when Frank knew: Red would never give up. That stubborn son of a bitch would keep going even if it killed him. Why did that even surprise him?

He pulled back and then rolled off Red, unsurprised when he popped up like a jack in the box.

“Red.” Frank stayed on the ground, though Red seemed ready to go.

“C’mon, Frank.”

“Let’s use a heavy bag.”

“I can do it,” Red said, gesturing toward the ring.

“Yeah, you can.” Frank got to his feet, though he stepped back when Red approached. “Not sure I can keep up.”

Red’s face twisted, his expression scornful. “Stop patronizing me.”

“I am not. Look, I had you trapped down there because of muscle mass. Somebody else could do that, too, and if you had two good arms you could have gotten free. But you don’t. And that cast was throwing you off balance while you were fighting, and the arm was hurting. Yeah?”

Red didn’t answer. His jaw worked for a moment, and then he turned away.

That was answer enough, though Frank doubted Red would admit to it out loud.

“I can still defend my city.”

Frank managed not to sigh. Always with his city.

“You can,” Frank agreed, speaking carefully. “But you’re not at a hundred percent. If you take time to recover, you’ll do better.”

“For six weeks? I can’t.”

“Do you really think you’re going to make it six weeks?” Frank asked, honestly curious.

Red smiled a little and shook his head.

“Your buddies, they’re taking care of things, right?” Red nodded, though he seemed reluctant. Frank added, “I can go out, too.”

“But you’ll kill them.”

“I don’t kill everybody, you know.” Red scoffed and Frank added, a little nettled, “I don’t. But at what point is it okay? Drug dealers? Child molesters? Guy raping somebody in a back alley?”

“Frank -”

“I know you wouldn’t kill any of those pieces of filth, but there has to be a point -” Frank cut off his words, taking a deep breath. He’d had this argument with Red too many times. He knew they were never going to find a middle ground. Red thought people could redeem themselves and Frank…

A lot of the time, Frank didn’t.

He got down from the ring and squared off in front of a heavy bag, punching with enough force that his hand ached a little even with the wrap. The bag moved in response and Frank corrected, punching twice more.

The bag stilled; Frank didn’t look, but Red must be holding it. Frank wasn’t sure how he managed with just the one arm but figured he had the bag braced against his body.

Frank punched again, exhaling as he did.

The bag didn’t move.

“Look,” came Red’s voice from behind the bag. “I get that you want to help. You care about the city, too.”

Frank grunted as he hit the bag three times, exhaling on each punch. Sure, he cared about the city.

He cared more about Red, didn’t want him getting his dumb ass killed by going out before he was ready.

“And I know we’re just going to keep having this same argument,” Red continued, the bag rock-steady as Frank pummeled it.

“If I go out there and kill somebody,” Frank said, between punches, “That’s on me. Not you.”

“But if you’re only out there because I’m not…”

“Who the fuck says that’s the only reason?” Frank asked, stepping back from the bag. “I want lowlifes out of the Kitchen just as much as you do.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

Frank went back over to the bench and sat down, pulling off the hand wraps. “Look, you’re grown. I was hoping that coming here would let you see that you’re not ready, but you and your death wish will do what you want.”

“I don’t have a death wish,” Red replied, and Frank scoffed. Red sighed. “Okay, I’ll give it two weeks,” he said, his tone making it clear that he considered it a ridiculous concession.

“And see how you’re doing then.”

Red muttered something about not needing a babysitter, but agreed, “And see how I’m doing then.”

Frank exhaled a soft sigh. It wasn’t even relief, because he didn’t really believe that Red would stick to it. But maybe he’d have a couple days without worrying about Red going off and getting himself killed.

Maybe.

* * *

Matt opened his eyes.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he closed them while he meditated, other than that he thought he should. He’d tried meditating with his eyes open, and even though he’d been alone at the time, it hadn’t worked. It had felt odd. He’d focused too much on his eyes and not enough on his breath. So he closed them, and meditation worked.

Stick, he was sure, would have already healed himself of something so insignificant as a broken bone. That was part of the reason he was having a hard time focusing, he knew: Stick’s voice in his head, calling him weak.

Another reason was his phone. They had called and left a cryptic message while Matt and Frank were at the boxing gym the day before, and Matt had expected another call but got nothing.

And then there was Frank. Frank, who was out patrolling his city. Frank, who wouldn’t promise not to kill anyone.

Frank had said that any deaths that happened were on him, but Matt still felt responsible. He should be strong enough to be out there.

Matt closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. The cast, he had to admit, was a hindrance; he just had to heal faster. Once the cast was gone, nobody would have any reason to stop him from doing what he needed to do.

He ran his good hand over the cast, fingers lingering over the kids’ stickers. He thought he could feel a different texture where they had signed, too.

Frank had made an amused noise when he’d seen the signatures. When Matt had told him that the kids wanted him to sign it, too, Frank had grumbled but had done it.

Matt had filed “for the kids” away as being an effective bargaining technique.

Frank hadn’t told Matt what he’d written; that morning at work, Matt had asked Foggy, who said it was just an F and a squiggle, but then Karen had chimed in and said that the squiggle looked like a heart, and it had become a whole big thing.

Foggy and Karen had signed the cast, too, and Matt found that he kind of liked it, having a representation of people who cared for him, even though he couldn’t see it. It almost made up for the fact that said representation was heavy, that his arm itched, that his balance felt off, that…

Possibly he didn’t like it so much, after all.

Meditation. Focus. He was meditating. He wasn’t thinking about the stupid weight of the cast, or about Frank.

He’d taken his gun. He hadn’t said anything and Matt hadn’t said anything, because Matt just didn’t want to have that argument again.

Matt opened his eyes once more and got to his feet. Meditation wasn’t going to happen, as much as he wanted it to; forcing it would just be an exercise in frustration. He pulled on his hoodie and went up to the roof, telling himself that he needed some air.

The chilly wind did feel refreshing. It woke him up, and Matt briefly thought about trying to meditate on the roof, but imagining Frank’s reaction made him decide against it.

So he didn’t meditate. He stood on the roof, closed his eyes, and listened to his city. Sometimes he thought he could sense its pulse in the rush of the traffic, its heartbeat in the sound of the people. His city wasn’t alive, but it was so full of life that sometimes it felt like it was.

Matt didn’t even bother to lie to himself, though. He was listening for Frank, for that heartbeat that he knew as well as his own. Usually, he could pick it out above everything else, but just then he couldn’t hear it. Frank must be too far away. Matt took a deep breath and said a silent prayer for Frank, for the good he was doing that night, and for his soul.

* * *

Frank pulled his hood up as he turned down the street that led to Red’s building. He wasn’t sure what time it was and didn’t want to bother to check, but it felt late. The city seemed to be winding down a little, and Frank had decided to call it a night.

He dug his keys out of his pocket, shaking his head a little at the skull keychain, and let himself into Red’s place.

Surprisingly, Red wasn’t waiting by the door. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere in the apartment. Frank shrugged and started to deal with his gear: vest, gun, and so forth. Red’s phone rang, and Frank looked over. The phone was there but Red wasn’t? Frank shrugged and turned back to his weapon.

The phone stopped ringing and Frank locked his gun away, then went to wash his hands. He didn’t think he had any blood on them or anything, just some dirt. Well, probably no blood. Frank scrubbed a little harder, just in case, but Red would probably smell it even with the soap.

Frank wandered out to the kitchen, a little uneasy about being in Red’s space without him being there. He opened and then closed the refrigerator door, then looked over as Red’s phone rang again. Like before, it was a generic ring, the same kind that had been making Red act all squirrelly lately.

Frank frowned. Wherever Red was, maybe he’d want to know who was calling. If it was the same person and they kept calling, they probably weren’t leaving voicemail.

Convincing himself that it was for Red’s benefit, even as he knew it was a bad idea, Frank answered the phone.

“Yeah?”

“About fucking time. Where have you been? I said I’d call back.”

Whoever he was, he sounded like an asshole.

“Busy,” Frank replied. He didn’t even try to sound like Red, but the asshole didn’t seem to care.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do. My buddy’s court date is tomorrow. Jimmy Wilcox. You’d better be sure he gets off, or I’ll tell everybody what I know.”

“So?”

This seemed to enrage the asshole. “So? So? You really don’t care if I go to the courthouse tomorrow and tell everyone that Matt Murdock is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? What will all your lawyer friends think of that? Damn, I shoulda killed you in that alley.”

Frank realized exactly which asshole it was. Somehow, the asshole had put two and two together and come up with actual information. Of course, Frank couldn’t let this piece of filth reveal Red’s secret. This was the guy who had threatened the kids, who had shot at Red.

“Courthouse,” Frank agreed. “Tomorrow.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” the asshole shouted, just before he ended the call.

Frank carefully replaced the phone where Red had left it.

Fuck.

If he told Red what the asshole had said, Red would… Frank didn’t know. Would he just go along with it, get the guy off and then set himself up to be manipulated even more? Or would he let the asshole tell everybody who he was?

No. Frank couldn’t tell Red. He’d go to the courthouse the next day and take care of things his own way.

And if Red got pissed off about it, well, Frank was just doing the things Red couldn’t.

The door from the roof rattled and Frank looked over. There was Red, shivering a little as he came down. He had that sleepy, relaxed look that he got after meditating, which made Frank first think that he was an idiot for doing that on a roof and then realize that maybe that meant Red hadn’t heard the phone conversation. Good.

“You kill anybody?”

Fuck, how did he - oh. He meant that evening. “Nah. Bashed some heads together, but I think they’ll survive.”

Red exhaled a breath, looking relieved, and Frank felt like an asshole. It was for Red’s own good.

“You okay?” Red asked. “Everything seems…”

“Yeah, fine. No damage. Well, not to me.”

Red took Frank’s hand with good one, running a thumb over knuckles that were already turning black and blue.

“That doesn’t count,” Frank said. “Other guy looks worse.”

Red didn’t say anything but just drew Frank close. “Thanks for not killing anybody,” he said.

Frank should go. He should leave, go back to his place. He knew what he was planning to do would piss Red off, and probably justifiably, but Frank couldn’t see any other way to handle the situation.

He should go. He even drew in a breath to say so, but Red was talking about turning in, and he still had Frank’s hand, and he was walking back to the bedroom, and…

Well. Frank hadn’t done it yet. Sure, he’d answered Red’s phone, but that was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

He should go, but Frank let Red take him into the bedroom.

* * *

Matt ran his fingers along his tie, checking the length and the knot, then pulled on his jacket.

Frank had already been gone when Matt woke up, which was a little weird. Lately, he had been staying and they’d done the domestic thing in the morning: coffee, bagels, talking about the day. But maybe Frank had an early job this morning and just hadn’t mentioned it.

Matt took up his cane and looped his bag over his shoulder, and left his apartment. Frank had been weird the night before, too, now that Matt thought about it.

He hadn’t been lying about killing someone; Matt would have known. But he had been quieter than usual, and every now and then his heart rate had gone up.

Matt hadn’t asked about it, but maybe he should have. He just hadn’t wanted Frank to give him a hard time about communicating.

Matt knew that Frank suspected something was up regarding the phone calls; he’d half-expected Frank to ask about it while they were in the truck, but no.

Thinking about that made Matt remember that he hadn’t gotten another phone call from the gang member. He thought about checking to see if he’d missed something, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to manage his cane, his bag, and his phone with just the one functioning arm. He promised himself that he would meditate some more that evening, that he’d really focus. He’d managed a little good meditation on the roof before the cold had sent him inside, but he could always use more. Maybe he’d see if Jessica or Luke or somebody could patrol that evening, so Frank could stay home. He knew that worry about Frank had been part of why his focus had been off the previous night.

Funny, he knew that Jess or Luke wouldn’t hesitate to kill somebody if need be, but it didn’t bother him as much as the thought of Frank taking a life. He told himself that he couldn’t hold himself responsible for anybody who killed anybody else, while acknowledging that maybe he could if the killing happened in the Kitchen.

But Frank…

He wanted Frank to go to Heaven. Matt confessed his own sins and had some hope that he would go to Heaven, and he wanted Frank to be there, too. He knew that Frank had his own moral code and that he stuck to it as steadfastly as Matt stuck to his own. It didn’t seem right to expect Frank to change, but Matt still hoped that somehow Frank would choose not to kill. He had the previous night, after all. It was a step in the right direction.

Matt had court first thing; because of the holiday, the courthouse had limited hours, so he planned to meet Foggy there and deal with their cases. There’s been some vague talk of meeting for drinks to celebrate the New Year, but nothing definitive; Matt would be just as happy to spend the evening alone with Frank.

He heard them as he approached the courthouse: the guys from the alley, the ones who had been calling his phone and leaving vaguely threatening voicemails. “Matt Murdock,” one yelled. “Look at the son of a bitch. Hey, everybody -”

The man fell down, and the smell of blood and gunpowder told Matt why. The other two joined him in quick succession, and the milling people began screaming and running for cover.

Matt, though? Matt remained upright, his head turning from side to side as he listened. There it was on a nearby rooftop, faster than usual but still recognizable as Frank’s heartbeat.

“What did you do?” Matt whispered, though he knew. Frank had killed them.

“Matty, get down.” The chaos of his surroundings snapped back into focus as Foggy grasped his arm, pulling him away from the bodies.

“Nobody else is going to die right now,” Matt replied numbly. Frank had his moral code, after all.

* * *

Frank watched through his scope as Nelson led Red away, his heart heavy. He’d done the right thing; he knew that, even if Red would never see it that way. If the assholes had exposed Red’s identity, it would have ruined everything.

Frank packed up his gun. The cops would be investigating soon, and he should be somewhere else.

For a moment, he considered staying, letting them find him, letting himself be caught. That would mean jail, but jail seemed like a better alternative to whatever else might happen.

Red knew he’d done it. Frank had seen his head turn as he listened. Even though Red didn’t know why, he knew who.

Frank didn’t see the need to explain himself. Red would say Frank should have told him, but Frank knew Red would have said to let him handle the situation. Knowing Red, he would absolutely have said not to kill the assholes. At least Frank hadn’t done something he’d been told not to do.

Frank sighed. Who the fuck was he kidding? He knew Red didn’t want this and he’d done it anyway. He’d fucked things up, but Frank didn’t really see an alternative.

Frank looked down at the ground once more; cops had arrived and were clearing people out, securing the scene. He should go. They’d figure out where the shots had come from. They’d be on the roof soon enough.

But it wasn’t until he actually heard footsteps approaching that Frank jumped to the next roof and made his way back to the ground. He pulled his cap down low over his head and blended into the crowd. Nobody knew who they were looking for, after all, and his rifle had been sufficiently disguised.

He’d seen Nelson take Red into the courthouse and they would probably be on lockdown for a while, so Frank had time to do the rest of what needed to be done.

There was no point in talking about it, after all. Red would go on about redemption while Frank knew there was no way these pieces of filth would have redeemed themselves. He just couldn’t take having that same argument again. They weren’t going to be able to find common ground on that.

They were too different.

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

* * *

Court was a complete waste of time. Everybody was so thrown by the shooting that nobody could accomplish anything, and the judge hadn’t gotten to the courthouse before they’d locked it down, so they couldn’t really get anything done.

Matt wanted to text Frank, but having to use speech-to-text made it kind of a challenge, surrounded by everybody as he was. He managed to send _Are you okay?_ as he and Foggy got settled in the courthouse, but Frank didn’t reply.

Eventually, he managed to get away and call Frank, but he didn’t pick up, so Matt resorted to leaving increasingly worried (and pissed off) voicemails.

Foggy must have overheard the last of those because he cleared his throat as he approached. “Everything okay?”

“You mean aside from the three dead guys out there?”

Foggy sighed, and Matt felt like an asshole for taking his feelings out on him. “Josie the clerk said that one of them yelled your name right before he got shot.”

“Yeah.”

“You know him?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

There was a very quiet, rather frustrated sound from Foggy. “They lifted the lockdown. Let’s go get some lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Too bad. The threat of imminent death makes me need carbs, and you’re coming.”

“You weren’t in any danger.”

Foggy’s heartbeat sped up a little. “Do you know who killed those guys?” Matt didn’t reply, and a chair creaked as Foggy sat. “Fuck. You do. And so do I, right? Everybody’s favorite murdery boyfriend. What, did the guy come on to you and F -” Foggy cut off the word. “He got possessive?”

Matt inhaled a deep, shaky breath. He wasn’t about to tell Foggy that one of the dead men had shot at him, causing his fall. “That’s not it.”

“But you know what _it_ is don’t you?”

“I’m not sure. He’s not answering my calls.”

Foggy was making quiet sputtering noises that sounded like he was trying hard not to say _I told you so._ “Come on,” he said finally. “Lunch.”

“Still not hungry.”

“Still too bad.”

Foggy came over and all but shoved his arm into Matt’s free hand, then scooped up Matt’s cane and his bag. “We’re going to the diner around the corner.”

Matt went along, but only because he couldn’t summon the energy to argue. When Foggy ordered him a burger and fries, he ate what was out before him, but he couldn’t have said afterward what it tasted like. He listened to Foggy’s nervous chatter and hummed in agreement whenever the pauses got too long.

Through all that, he was thinking, _Frank._

Finally, he extricated himself from Foggy’s company and made his way back to his apartment, hoping that Frank would be there. Even as he approached, he knew the apartment would be empty; he didn’t hear Frank’s heartbeat.

Still, the apartment’s silence came as a shock, even knowing that’s what he would find. It smelled different; a quick search showed that Frank’s gun locker was gone, as well as the odds and ends that had gradually migrated from Frank’s place to Matt’s.

The last, worst thing that Matt found, on the kitchen counter, was the skull keychain. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand, then closed his fist around it until the keys bit into his palm, his stomach twisting, his head pounding. Finally, unable to take it, he threw the keys across the room and let loose a short, pained cry.

Nobody answered.


End file.
